


On the Flip of a Coin

by Thistlewhistle



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Bad end, Body Horror, Canon Divergent, Gen, it gets gross in here, no seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 18:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thistlewhistle/pseuds/Thistlewhistle
Summary: The Crystal Exarch had set up quite the gamble. If all went well, the world would be saved. But what if it didn't go well? What if at the last possible moment, everything suddenly went very wrong.Shadowbringers spoilers ahead! Specifically for the level 79 trial and its aftermath.





	On the Flip of a Coin

**Author's Note:**

> This was something of an experiment for me. I wanted to try my hand at writing body horror, and certain plot points in this expansion provided me with a perfect opportunity. I didn't have any particular WoL/WoD in mind when I wrote this, so I used they/them pronouns for the WoL/WoD. Feel free to slot in your own if you want to.

A shot rang out. The Exarch crumpled to the floor. The Warrior of Darkness stared at his broken body as blood pooled around him. It was funny. Somehow they didn't think he would bleed.

Emet-Selch sauntered into the room, smoking pistol still held aloft.

"Only those who possess the Royal Eye of the Allagan imperial line are capable of controlling the Crystal Tower." Emet-selch began to monologue, "Such individuals do not exist in the First. Therefore, in all likelihood, the Exarch arrived here with the tower. This much I had surmised, yet I could not discern his grand scheme."

Emet-Selch paused to look at the Warrior of Darkness, brought low by the light raging within them. Teeth grit to hold in their cries of pain, they held their sides tightly, as if that would somehow contain the Light. The Ascian smirked.

"To think that he went through all this trouble for the sake of a single hero. It's almost admirable in its absurdity. Alas, it is not your grand scheme that will succeed, but ours."

"You bastard!" Thancred shouted, making to draw his weapon.

"Stay put." Emet-Selch commanded, "Your friend is still alive, but whether he remains so depends on you."

The Scions did nothing to stop what came next. What could they do? Any move they made would spell the end of the Exarch, their friend's only hope for salvation. The Ascian had picked the perfect hostage, and they all knew it.

"What a disappointment you turned out to be." He turned his attention back towards the suffering hero, naked disgust in his eyes, "I placed my faith in you. Let myself believe that you could contain the Light. But look at you now, halfway to becoming a monster."

The Warrior knew that Emet-Selch was right. They could feel the changes happening within them. Every bone, every drop of blood, every scrap of muscle had begun to tear themselves apart in preparation for what they were going to become. The greatest of all sin eaters.

"It... was you." The warrior croaked out through the pain, "You were the one who created Vauthry."

Emet-Selch sighed, as if he was suddenly very bored of this conversation.

"I am an Ascian. My heart's sole desire is to usher in the Great Rejoining." he shrugged, as if it had been obvious all along, "A hundred years ago, I entrusted my comrade Loghrif with the task of increasing Light's sway over this world. When that failed to achieve the desired result, I created Vauthry. But thanks to your meddling, that too has ended in failure."

The Warrior took solace in that, at least. At the very least, they had been able to screw over the Ascians with their one final act. It wasn't perfect, but it would be enough.

"What was your purpose in approaching us?" Alphinaud demanded.

"By your Twelve, boy," Emet-Selch spat, "Have I not told you before that everything I said was the truth? You were specimines by which I might gague man's potential as it stands. I genuinely had an interest in you. Genuinely considered taking you on as allies."

The Ascian paused to gesture towards the Warrior once more, "Provided they could contain the Light. If not then they- and by extension you- would be of no use to me. 'Twas as simple as that."

"And so we were found wanting. How disheartening." Thancred's sarcastic drawl was somehow comforting. If he felt comfortable enough to be a smartass, perhaps he had a plan of some kind. The Warrior could only hope, "But even if we had fulfilled your conditions, there was no guarantee that we would cooperate. What then?"

"Then I would simply kill you all. At the very least, it would restore the world to the way it was before you went around trouncing Lightwardens willy-nilly."

A thought occurred to the Warrior. The Warrior met their friend's eyes. His head moved, a barely perceptible nod. So small that the Warrior couldn't be certain that they had not simply imagined it. But they knew him well enough by now. Thancred was stalling. Keeping the Ascian's attention focused away from the one person he didn't anticipate an attack from.

Heedless of their plan, Emet-Selch continued his monologue, "Suffice it to say it would be most inconvenient to have all that Light taken away- and I would be lying if I were to claim his actions didn't have me worried-"

The Warrior gathered the last of their strength, and launched themselves at the Ascian. A wild, desperate swing. They had not the energy for anything else. Before the blow could connect, they felt something inside of them shatter. The sudden pain dropped them to their knees, retching helplessly as a thick white substance forced its way out of their mouth. It splattered against the marble floor and the Warrior could see their reflection in the iridescent puddle. They didn't look changed. Not yet.

"Hm?" Emet-Selch turned to them with an amused expression, "So you still retain your form and your senses... but you have all but become a sin eater."

He crouched before the Warrior, meeting them at eye level, "Whether you will it or no, your mere existence will serve to engulf the world in light. Those in your company will likewise turn into sin eaters, and in time you will succumb to your base instincts and hunt innocents to feast on their sweet, sweet aether."

He was taunting the Warrior. Gloating in his moment of victory. The Warrior could do nothing but spit the foul-tasting fluid at the Ascian. His smirk faded into a scowl as he wiped away the fluid with the back of his glove. He gripped the Warrior roughly by the chin and brought their face close to his own.

"Those few with the will left to fight may rise up against you. But against your overwhelming might, they will quickly know despair." He dropped the Warrior's chin, watching their head fall. They were too weak to hold it up any longer. Too consumed by the pain to even hear the words they taunted him with.

"There is no hope! We are finished! Mankind is finished!" Emet-Selch said in a mocking tone as he turned back to the Scions, "Ah the irony. What Vauthry achieved through bliss, they will achieve through despair."

Something in their right arm was shifting. The warrior watched their skin shift and stretch as their bones found their new shape. Long and thick and pointed, it burst through their skin. A shower of the white fluid, of liquid light exploded out along with the thick bladed marble.

Somehow, incredibly, the Warrior found their feet once more. Shredded skin and muscle hung limp from where their elbow used to be, swaying grotesquely as they stood. They moved with speed they no longer believed they possessed, thrusting their new arm through Emet-Selch's back. The Warrior found the strength to smile as they heard the Ascian's shaky dying breaths.

They ripped what had once been their arm free of the Ascian's chest and watched as his body collapsed to the floor.

"It seems I've overstayed my welcome." a frustratingly nonchalant Ascian taunted from somewhere behind the Warrior. How had he managed to take a new host so quickly? It didn't seem fair.

"I look forward to seeing you bring the world to its knees, hero."

With a snap of Emet-Selch's fingers, the Exarch disappeared. Spirited away by some teleportation magick or another. The Scions could only look on helplessly as their only hope vanished into thin air before their eyes.

"Exarch!" Alphinaud yelled after him, as if that would somehow bring him back.

"I have naught to show for all the time and effort I invested in you. He is a small token for my troubles. I did not expect that I could learn aught from man, but I may yet learn something from all the knowledge he hoarded for his precious hero." Emet-Selch knelt down next to the Warrior. In a parody of comfort, he placed a hand on their twisting shoulder, "I pity you, I do. Your friends are now your foes. If you do not kill them, they will kill you."

"You... first." The warrior choked out around waves of the sickly white bile that insisted on forcing its way up their throat.

"When it all becomes too much, seek me out in my abode, in the dark depths of the Tempest. There you may complete your descent into madness with some dignity, far from prying eyes." his voice was softer, almost kind. Perhaps he meant what he said. A lonely place to lose their mind didn't seem like such a bad idea after all. They couldn't bear the thought of their friends seeing them in such a sorry state.

"Until then, I bid you farewell, eater." The Ascian offered one final taunt before vanishing, presumably to his home in the depths of the Tempest.

Footsteps echoed through the stillness of the hall. Their friends were trying to approach. Didn't they understand?

"Stay away!" The Warrior commanded. Instinctively, they raised their remaining hand. Blades made of shining white marble rose from the floor, forming a barrier between the warrior and their friends. It was too late for the warrior, but the scions could yet survive. If only they were willing to do what needed to be done.

"It's too late." The Warrior couldn't bring themselves to look at their friends. What sort of expressions were they making? Were they afraid? Sad? Angry? The thought of any of them feeling such things over them was too much for the Warrior to bear.

"No!" Ryne screamed, pounding against the barrier. The sound caught their attention, pulling their gaze upwards to their friends. The Warrior could see the desperation and helplessness in the child's eyes. The growing horror as she began to comprehend what was happening.

"Thancred!" the Warrior cried out for their friend. The one who had been with them from the very beginning, back when they were nothing more than a rookie adventurer in Ul'dah. Back when they had saved the sultana without even realizing it. The warrior caught his eye, iridescent white liquid welling up in their own like tears, "Please... don't let her see..."

It was all they could do to protect her. Keeping her from seeing the light destroying them. Laying waste to what they were and bringing forth something horrible.

Thancred nodded. He pulled the girl away from the barrier, roughly holding her face to his chest.  
Ryne struggled against him. Flailing and screaming and scratching. He worked to soothe the girl as best he could with soft words and as much understanding as he could muster. It wasn't the first time he had needed to pull a hysterical scion away to safety. Hopefully, it would be the last.  
The twins weren't faring much better than Ryne had been.

Alphinaud didn't bother to conceal his tears. They streamed brazenly down his face, his mouth twisting into a furious scowl.

They knew how he must have been feeling. Rage and helplessness and failure boiling just under the surface. His hands clenched into little fists, as if he thought striking the barrier would do any good.

The poor boy.

After everything they had been through together, the Warrior knew that he wanted nothing more than to save them. The way they had saved Estinien back at the Steps of the Faith.

Even through all the emotions raging within him, Alphinaud would not look away. He couldn't abandon his friend. They could see the look in his eyes, he was grasping at any solution he could come up with. Any mad idea that might be enough to finally save them.

Alisaie's gaze was empty, as if she were staring through the warrior. As if she had gone somewhere very far away. It was unfair to make her witness this for a second time.

Life had been nothing but unfair to those twins, and there was nothing the warrior could do to fix it. The fate of two worlds was in their hands, all the Warrior could do was buy them the time to find a way to save them.

"Feo Ul... I need you." The warrior coughed out the words along with more of that iridescent fluid. Liquefied light.

"Oh my dear sapling..." The king of the faeries appeared before her, giant and resplendent and impossibly sad. Looking down upon the Warrior's breaking form, "Look at what you've done to yourself... What am I to do with you?"

"Can you... seal me? The way you did Titania?"

It was a longshot, but it was also their only hope. If they could lock the warrior away where they couldn't hurt anyone, the scions would be able to find a way to stop them. A way to save the First.

"Aye... I can do it." Feo Ul stared down at them with a pitying expression, "But are you certain? You could still have my crown. Come live in our castle. If any warriors come to you with steel and magic, all of Il Mheg would rise in your defense."

"Please..." the Warrior begged, the liquid light streaming down their face. A grotesque mockery of tears. "Please don't let me hurt them."

Feo Ul smiled and made their way back behind the barrier. "I knew you would never accept such a wicked suggestion. Farewell, my beloved sapling."

"Farewell Feo Ul." the Warrior offered their friends one final weak smile. It was going to be alright. They were going to find a way.

Urianger had turned his face away, his eyes shut tight. The guilt of what he had done, the secrets he had kept, the path he had set them down burrowing deep into his soul. The Warrior wanted to offer him some small comfort. They knew how deeply he felt these losses. But what words of comfort could they offer now?

And... Y'shtola? Which one... was Y'shtola again? It was growing difficult to tell which one of their friends was which. Their faces, their personhood, it all seemed to be washed away before a deep and unending hunger.

How the Warrior longed to sink their teeth into their pink flesh. To drink deep of their aether. To suck the marrow from their bones.

"I'll hold it back for as long as I can." They promised their friends, offering the a wan smile, "I'm counting on you all to find a way to save me."

They all knew how hopeless the task would be.

"If there is a way, I'll find it. I swear to you." That voice... it belonged to? By the Twelve. They couldn't remember. Their friends. They had been together for so long. Entrusted each other with their very lives. What were their names?

"Can I... make one more request?" The Warrior asked. As silly as it seemed, they felt guilty for asking so much of their forgotten friends. After everything they had done for them. Helping them through this strange world, guiding them, standing by them, "Can you... go?"

"What?" the Warrior wasn't sure who had gasped the question. Their vision was blurring, being overtaken by the Light.

"Please... don't look at me." they pleaded.

Whoever had responded or what their response had been was lost on the Warrior. They couldn't make out words over the sound of their own choking. Along with the endless stream of iridescent light that had been flooding out of them, they felt something long and hard clawing its way up their throat.

They felt it against their tongue, five small cylinders of smooth polished marble. The Warrior couldn't place what they were until they folded over their bottom teeth like a hand grabbing at the edge of a cliff. They were fingers. Carved stone fingers, attached to a hand attached to an arm that was forcing its way out of them from somewhere deep within them. A second hand joined the first, latching onto the Warrior's upper jaw.

They couldn't breathe.

Together the strong stone hands began to pry, forcing the Warrior's mouth further open. Further and further until the Warrior's jaw creaked and groaned and cracked under the force of it all. The skin tore open as the Warrior's jaw was ripped clean from their face, the discarded mandible falling to the floor with a wet, sickening thud.

More hands joined the fray. Pulling and ripping and tearing their way out of the warrior until there was nothing left of the former hero but scraps of meat.

Free from their prison of flesh, Pragma rose. A being of marble arms and blades jutting out in every direction.. Eyes littered the statuesque marble, inky black voids that blinked slowly and one at a time. It looked around, the feeling of prey being near. Its eyes snapped to beyond the barrier of blades it had conjured back when it had still been a person.

Before it had become its true self.

There was its prey. Standing still, mouths agape, delicious fear and pain radiating off of them in mouthwatering waves. Pragma charged, its hands skittering soundlessly across the floor. The blades fell at its approach. The prey raised paltry weapons, preparing to defend themselves against it.

Pragma's hands met with something invisible and solid. A barrier between it and its prey. The Lightwarden let out a high-pitched shriek of rage, slamming fists and blade against the barrier. It laid its hands against the barrier, and skittered upwards. Climbing up and up towards the ceiling, searching for a weak point in its prison.

Its prey began to turn and walk away. Pragma could do nothing but watch helplessly as its meal abandoned it to its solitude. It raged against the walls and barriers imprisoning it to no avail. For now at least, the realm was safe from Pragma's fury.

So long as the barrier held.


End file.
